


drabbles

by tigriswolf



Series: Alternate Universe [176]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, F/M, Family Secrets, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mild Gore, Mind Games, Nogitsune Trauma, POV Outsider, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1252222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving the majority of my Teen Wolf drabbles to here.  Pretty much everything in here was written with only knowledge of seasons 1&2.  (There is, however, some season 3, too.  But nothing past that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tell me I was dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Title: tell me I was dreaming  
> Disclaimer: not my characters  
> Warnings: spoilers through 3.20; character death  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 610  
> Point of view: third  
> Note: While watching Echo House for the first (and only, so far) time, it occurred to me that Stiles could be the major character death we keep hearing about because the bite can kill. I mentioned it to my little sister, also watching with me, and then said I’d probably be writing that happening. She forbade me. 
> 
> Clearly, I didn’t listen. *shrugs*

_If it doesn’t kill you_ , Peter had said, _and it could._

_And it could._

“Stiles, if you become a werewolf, the nogitsune will have to leave!” Scott tells him. “Deaton said so!” 

“Did he?” Stiles asks tiredly. He’s just so tired. So tired. He can’t think, he hasn’t slept in – what day is it? After Eichen House, after the oni, after _everything_ \- he’s tired. So tired. 

“I told you I’d do something!” Scott says. “This is something I can do. The only thing. _Please_ let me. Please.”

The nogitsune hums in the back of his mind; it sounds like a laugh. 

“Okay,” Stiles breathes out. 

_If it doesn’t kill you_ , Peter had said, _and it could._

Scott bites him on the wrist, just like Peter was going to, and it hurts, it does – but not as much as realizing what his hands had done without his knowledge or consent. “How – how long does it take?” he asks, eyes closed, one fist clenched, the other hand still being held by Scott’s own. 

“I woke up healed the next morning,” Scott says. 

Stiles throws himself backwards onto his bed, rests his head on his pillow, and says, “I’m so tired, Scott.” 

“I know,” Scott says, sinking down next to him. “Try to sleep. You’ll wake up better tomorrow.” He pats Stiles on the shoulder and smiles. “You’ll see, Stiles. It’ll all be better in the morning.”

Stiles sighs. “Tell my dad I said goodnight, okay?” he murmurs. 

Scott nods and Stiles rolls over to bury his face in the pillow. His wrist throbs in time with his heartbeat. The nogitsune whispers, _Let me in if you want to live._

Stiles doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t sleep, and halfway through the night, the bite begins to burn. He winces but doesn’t call out. 

_If it doesn’t kill you_ , Peter had said, _and it could._

He looks down at the bite because his arm refuses to move when he tries to raise it – it’s oozing that same stuff Gerard spit out, the same stuff that came out of Derek that with the bone saw. 

_Of course,_ he thinks. _Of course._ “Scott,” he says, knowing his brother is downstairs with his dad, and neither of them have slept either. “Scott, it didn’t take.” 

_If it doesn’t kill you_ , Peter had said, _and it could._

 _I can save you_ , the nogitsune says as Scott rushes into the room. _Let me in. Let me in – I can save you!_

“Scott,” he says as his dad follows, both of them reaching for him. “It’s not your fault.” 

The nogitsune shrieks in the back of his mind and Stiles just grabs for his dad with his one good hand, saying, “It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, I swear, I promise, it’s not your fault.” 

It hurts _so much_ and he breathes through it, trying to meet Scott’s gaze, but Scott is only looking at the bite, oozing black bile and burning, and Dad’s crying and Scott’s crying, and Stiles’ eyes are watering because _pain_ \- 

But for the first time in _weeks_ , Stiles’ mind is clear. His body is rejecting the bite. He’s dying. He’s dying with the nogitsune in him, which means _it_ will _die too_. So he smiles, and he clings to his dad and Scott, and he breathes and he breathes and he breathes – 

_If it doesn’t kill you_ , Peter had said, _and it could._

_Let me in!_ the nogitsune screams. Stiles breathes and reaches for that shadow curled up in the far corner of his mind and holds on as tight as he can, all the way down – and then he lets go.


	2. you do not eat that which rips your heart with joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: you do not eat that which rips your heart with joy  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Thomas Lux  
> Warnings: mentions of gore; future!fic  
> Pairings: a smidge of implied Derek/Stiles  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 795  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: any, any, "you're either part of the problem, part of the solution, or part of the landscape" (Eat)  
> Note: either Derek’s pack dealt with Peter, he left, or he was never resurrected; I’m not sure which.

The pack is down; the hunter's partner is a witch, and she's good. Better than Deaton. 

Scott's choking on nothing, gasping for air, and he's the only wolf close enough for Stiles to touch, and it might not be enough - Scott has to _believe_ , just as hard as Stiles does, and Scott has never trusted Derek the way Stiles is beginning to. 

Stiles wriggles over to Scott, grabs his hand, whispers, "Believe I can do it, Scott, believe in the pack, please, _please_ believe in me."

Scott doesn't nod, and Stiles can't look at him, can't look away from the witch standing at the treeline, watching her hunter speechify at Derek. 

Derek's dying, and Stiles doesn't have enough on his own, not after pulling the rest of the curse from the rest of the pack. He had to choose - Derek or the puppies, and Derek would never forgive him for letting them all die. Stiles would never forgive himself. 

Scott can't talk, but he squeezes Stiles' hand and suddenly Stiles doesn't hurt as much. Warmth spreads up his arm and once it hits his heart, he's back in the game. 

He meets Lydia's gaze, from where she's tucked against Jackson, and she tilts her head to the witch. 

Breaking the spell should stun the witch long enough for Lydia to get her. Deaton had said that Lydia wasn't a battering ram like Stiles; Lydia is precision and intent. She's the stream you never notice until it's worn a chasm into the ground. Stiles is the tidal wave that flattens everything. 

Stiles could blast the witch off the face of the planet, but he'd also get everything for five miles around, and he doesn't have enough control left to protect the pack while he does it, so, yeah. Lydia gets the witch. 

"Believe," he whispers again, and he feels the pack, Danny's serenity and Isaac's pain, Boyd's anger and Erica's defiance, Allison's hate for hunters that don't follow the code, Jackson's regret for trusting the witch, and Scott sure with his last breath that Stiles _can do this_ \- and Lydia strikes at the same moment Stiles attacks the spell about to drain Derek dry.

Stiles is a battering ram and he throws almost everything he has left at the witch’s curse, dragging the poison out of Derek and into the ground. When it demands a life, as promised by the witch, Stiles shoves the hunter forward with a thought. 

It’s a bad way to die. Now that it isn’t any of Stiles’ pack dying, he doesn’t care. 

The witch explodes, all her parts being contained neatly by Lydia, and Stiles makes sure with what he has left that the pack is alright. 

“Stiles?” Scott says, now that he has his breath back, now that his werewolf healing is taking care of everything. “Stiles!” 

They’ll all be fine, even Derek, who’d come the closest, again. 

“Stiles!” someone shouts, sounding further away than Scott should be. “Scott, what’s wrong with him?” 

Lydia says something, but Stiles can’t hear what, and when did it get so col – 

.

Stiles wakes up in the hospital. He is really fucking tired of the hospital. 

He has until the doctor announces he’ll heal just fine if he avoids going without food or drink for thirty-six hours again, and he’s confused for a second, because he didn’t do that, but then he figures out that must be the result of letting the magic pull everything, and then Dad waits for the doctor to leave to stare down at him and say, “Werewolves, Stiles, really?” 

“Oh, thank Christ,” Stiles says. “I was running out of reasonable explanations.” 

“None of them have been reasonable, kid,” Dad replies. “Now, there’s a lot of kids out there waiting for you. Feel up to it?” 

They’re all there, bright and strong, and Stiles basks in them. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, reaching out to cradle their lights, warm inside and out. 

Before walking over to the door, Dad squeezes Stiles’ shoulder and leans down to kiss his forehead. “I love you, Allandros, and I’m proud of you,” he murmurs. “Your mother would be, too.” 

Stiles never knows what to say when Dad talks about Mama, but this feels right, so Stiles says, “She’d be proud of you, too,” and Dad’s eyes are a little wet, but so are Stiles’, and Dad goes to let the puppies barrel into the room.


	3. This is the way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: This is the way  
> Fandom: Teen Wolf  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Eliot  
> Warnings: future!fic, mentions of character death  
> Pairings: Derek/Stiles  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 515  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles,
> 
>   _He's pulling his weapon to his side_  
>  _Loading it full of his goodbyes_  
>  _Holding an enemy across the line_

Wolves don't mate for life, no matter what Scott says. Stiles has done the research; wolves are serial monogamists.

No matter how the pack pokes fun at 'Mom and Dad,' Stiles has always known the way this would end. He loves Beacon Hills, he does – but he can't stay. Not for Derek. Not even for Dad.

.

This isn't for the good of the pack. This isn't because of the blood soaked into every inch of Beacon Hills, or the stench of smoke always on the breeze. This isn't because of the looks he still gets when he buys groceries, the mutters he shouldn't be able to hear but can.

This is because Stiles has spent twenty years putting everyone before himself and he's so damned tired. If he doesn't get out now, Beacon Hills will kill him.

Part of him wants the rest. He needs it.

But most of him remembers how hard his mother fought to live, how hard his father tried to keep breathing, and he knows that he can't disappoint them by giving up.

.

Stiles will miss them all, Derek and his puppies and even Deaton. He'll miss the house he grew up in and the meadow where he scattered both his parents' ashes. He'll miss the home Derek has turned the one-time Hale wreck into.

The pack are staying close; the furthest away is Lydia at Stanford.

Nowhere is too far and Stiles hasn't set any plan in stone. He's got more than enough money and a spark stirring his blood, and his parents had never gone further than Arizona, though his mom was fascinated with Australia.

So that's the plan, then.

.

He says goodbye beneath a full moon. Derek doesn't ask him to stay. Stiles wouldn't have if he did. Scott hugs him too hard, Allison kisses his cheek, Erica punches him in the shoulder, Boyd claps him on the back, Lydia pats him on the cheek, and Isaac and Jackson shake his hand.

As Stiles passes over the territory line, a single howl follows him down the highway.

.

He doesn't turn around. He may come back one day and he has no idea what will be waiting – but he can't stay a moment longer. Too much blood is soaked into the ground, and too much of it is his. It's leave or die.

Part of him wants to stay, will always want to stay. But the windows are down, letting in a night wind that doesn't stink of smoke and old blood, and he knows that this is for the best.

Maybe he'll be back. Maybe he won't. He doesn't know. But he does know that he's already breathing easier, and that there's already tension fading from his muscles, and whether or not he goes back – he throws back his head and lets a howl echo over the horizon.

Whether he's with them or not, they're his pack. He always knew he was leaving, but he'll always love Derek.

He howls again, breathing smoke-free air, and there's a world waiting for him where his blood hasn't soaked into the ground.


	4. tell him we will meet as men, for with honor did I die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: tell him we will meet as men, for with honor did I die  
> Disclaimer: not my characters  
> Warnings: AU during season 2, character death  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 260  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: Any, any, "I wish I was sorry, but I'm not."

(The paper is crumpled, dotted with blood, and left beneath the sheriff’s coffee mug. Stiles has been missing for six hours when he reads it.)

 

Hey, Dad. 

I’m not sure - There are so many lies. These past few years – well, you’ve been there. It’s been hard. And I wish I could tell you I was sorry for all the shit I’ve done, the lies I’ve told, but – I can’t, Dad. I can’t. And I can’t explain why, either.

I know I’ve disappointed you, and I know Mom would be disappointed, too. I know that. And I’m - 

I’m out of time. I’m sorry. 

I love you, Dad. Don’t blame yourself, please don’t blame yourself. None of this, of any of it, is your fault, I promise – but you won’t believe me, I’ve lied too much. 

I love you. No matter what else, remember that, okay? You’ve been the best, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better son. 

I’ve got to go, Dad. 

I love 

 

(Derek Hale brings back Stiles’ body and explains everything while the sheriff cradles his son. Scott shows up halfway through, with the Argent girl and three teenagers wearing leather jackets like armor. 

No apology is enough, but Hale says, “I know who did it,” and the Argent girl raises her chin to add, “I can get you close to him.”

No one makes a sound as the sheriff rocks his son back and forth in his arms. He reaches up to remove the badge from his pocket and says, “Tell me.”)


	5. a shadow ajar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: a shadow ajar  
> Disclaimer: not my characters  
> Warnings: post season 3; trauma; mindfuck  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 265  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: Teen Wolf, Stiles, _I don’t just want your heart. I want your flesh, your skin and blood and bones, your voice, your thoughts, your pulse and most of all your fingerprints, everywhere_.

He watches the fox crumble to dust, watches his own face collapse, and he knows -- it's not over yet. 

How could it be that easy?

…

They all flinch from him. It was his body, his face, his voice, his eyes. 

(Did his body die? Is he wearing the fox?) 

They all flinch from him. He understands. He flinches from himself.

…

(Of course it wasn’t that easy.)

…

When is a door not a door? 

What can no one lose? 

(A shadow ajar, a shadow ajar, _tell me, Stiles, tell me_ you **know**.)

Everybody has it.

Every body. 

(Let’s make more.)

…

Allison died because of him. A hundred casualties at the hospital. Four dead because of the bomb. (One of the ex-alpha twins, but he doesn’t really care about that, except that it hurt Lydia.)

He wasn’t strong enough. Not fast enough, or smart enough. He’s never enough.

(He let the fox in, all three times.)

(Do they really think nothing’s left?)

…

He avoids mirrors. He sleeps through the night, now, because he checks that he’s actually dreaming. He plays games and reads books and avoids everyone. 

They avoid him, too. 

…

“Are you awake, Stiles?” his voice asks him, his face, his grin. 

He exhales slowly, counting to ten, and then he meets his own gaze. “You’re just a shadow,” he says. 

The fox (dream, dream, _dreaming_ ) laughs. “That’s all I ever was.”

…

He watches the fox crumble to dust, watches his own face collapse, and he knows -- it's not over yet. 

Of course it wasn’t that easy.


	6. the light that lit and shadowed the faces of history

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: the light that lit and shadowed the faces of history  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Billy Collins  
> Warnings: future!fic; mentions of character death & violence  
> Pairings: implied Allison/Scott  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount:645  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: any, any, your past is trash, throw it out  
> 

He leaves Beacon Hills the day they bury his father and he never goes back.

.

Scott tries calling him. So do Allison, Isaac, Lydia, and Danny; even Jackson, a few times. They all leave voicemails. 

Derek doesn't.

.

Honestly, a part of him had always known it would come to this. 

.

He settles in Pittsburgh because it's where the engine falls out of his jeep. He applies to NSU and from there goes to Pitt, where he does a variety of things before settling on history.

Those who don't understand the past are doomed to repeat it.

.

One of his professors is a werewolf. Three of his peers are witches. Five of the people in his undergrad dorm were shifters of some kind. 

All of them avoided him and would not have been able to articulate why, but he knew. 

Blood leaves a stain and it never washes out.

.

In his dreams, wolves howl. _oh, little red_ , they call, _won’t you come out tonight? it’s such a brilliant moon_.

Sparks cause fires. Fires burn. 

Blood stains.

.

Pack is family. Family dies. 

He studies and he learns and he ignores the moon.

.

He graduates in the spring and moves on. 

A dozen people breathe easier and will never be able to explain why.

.

He sticks to the east coast for awhile, from Florida to Maine and back. He lives on the edge of society like a scavenger, and he ignores the moon and he ignores the spark, and while a few humans try messing with him, nothing else does.

Blood stains. So does the stench of fire. 

.

The wind whispers, sometimes, about the Hale pack. It’s growing. Stronger and steadier. Like it was before the fire. The wind whispers about the Argents, too, the greatest hunters and one of the oldest names in the world. The matriarch, they say, she’s mated to a wolf. The matriarch, they say, is more dangerous than any hunter in two hundred years. 

But the Hale pack, they say, is blessed. Nothing goes to Beacon Hills looking for trouble. Not anymore. Not since the blood, and not since the fire.

.

Once he’s walked every inch of the Atlantic coast, he turns towards the Gulf. He stands in hurricanes but it doesn’t wash away the blood.

.

Magic is in the blood, and so is lightning.

.

He doesn’t set foot in California. The pack closest to the state line sniffs him out but doesn’t approach. He skirts the line the whole way to Oregon and then trails the Pacific up through Washington and follows the Canadian border all the way back to Maine.

Then he starts over, this time crisscrossing the heart of the country.

.

This isn’t the life he thought he’d have, all those years ago, when he dragged Scott into the woods.

This isn’t the life he thought he’d have, all those years ago, when his father tried to help him and ended up dead in his place.

This isn’t the life he wanted, but it is what he has. 

.

The Hale pack, they say, can’t be wounded. 

The Argents, they say, have allied with the wolves. 

_little red_ , wolves howled once, _come dance in moonlight with us_. 

Sheriff Stilinski died a hero saving his son’s life. The son vanished; no one knows what happened to the boy, but it’s such a shame, isn’t it, that a hero died instead. 

.

Blood stains until nothing else can show. Sparks burn until ashes remain. 

He can’t go home. He won’t die. 

Nothing touches him and he survives. 

.

He leaves Beacon Hills the day they bury his father and he never goes back. Once he gets tired of the States, he goes north and then south, all the way to Cape Horn.

Then he goes east to Africa because he’s got nothing but time.


	7. Weren’t your mama’s only boy, but her favorite one, it seems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Weren’t your mama’s only boy, but her favorite one, it seems  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Van Zandt  
> Warnings: AU  
> Pairings: mentions of Kate Argent/Derek, Peter/OMC  
> Rating: PGish  
> Wordcount: 980  
> Point of view: third  
> Note: Since Teen Wolf is so forthcoming with ages, I’ve decided Cora was 11, Derek 14, Laura 18, and Peter 27 when the fire happened. So in season 1, Derek was around 20/21, Laura 26ish, and Peter about 34. Also, the whole thing with Paige still happened – except with Peter, not Derek.  
> Prompt: Teen Wolf, Peter & Derek (& Cora), Lydia found out from Talia's claws that Peter is actually Talia's son and not her brother. She had him when she was quite young and her parents raised him as their son. Would like to see the different reactions. Since there's not an apparently huge age gap between Peter and Derek, there must be less of a gap between Peter and Laura so Peter might wonder why she raised Laura and her other kids but not him and have questions about who his father was. 
> 
> Apologies for the long prompt. It stems from the moment when Lydia said to Peter he wasn't just an uncle my first thought was what if he's Derek's brother. The wording doesn't make sense for that but now I like the idea of what if.

Peter was nine when Laura was born. He remembers sitting in Dad’s chair and Talia helping him hold the baby, the first of the next generation. “She’s your niece,” Talia told him. “You have to help keep her safe, Peter.” 

“I will,” he remembers promising, watching his niece blink open her newborn blue eyes. Her eyes eventually changed to Talia’s hazel, and so did Derek’s, four years later. Cora’s were brown at birth and stayed brown. 

Peter’s eyes have always been blue, except after he tore his niece apart for the alpha red. 

(He wasn’t aware, not until after the alpha’s strength healed the rest of his mind. He wasn’t aware. He once swore to protect his nieces and his nephew, solemnly meeting his alpha’s eyes. He _swore_.)

“You’re not an uncle,” Lydia Martin says softly, after communing with Talia’s claws. He was nine when Laura was born, barely thirteen when Derek was, and almost seventeen for Cora. He’d just begun courting the heir of a pack in San Francisco because of course he wasn’t staying in Beacon Hills when Kate Argent burned everything down. 

(Also, Talia wanted him gone before Cora and Derek learned about Paige and that disaster with Ennis. Laura already knew that he wasn’t the hero they’d all believed him to be, but Derek and Cora still idolized him, and so did Ryan’s daughters. Mom and Dad were long dead by then and Talia an alpha respected across the continent.)

“What?” he asks, watching Lydia stare at her own fingernails like she’s never seen them before. “Lydia, what does that mean?” 

(Peter should have scented the Argent sniffing around the youngest Hale boy. Talia Hale and her husband Evan, two daughters and a son, all werewolves. Ryan Hale and his human wife Miranda, two daughters, one human. Evan’s sister and her human son, in the process of leaving her husband. And Peter, about to move to San Francisco to be with Aaron, out of reach of Talia’s judgmental stare.) 

Lydia’s gaze goes to Peter, and then back to Allison Argent (an _Argent_ in the den, rend and tear, _rend and tear_ ). “I,” she says. “I – I can’t tell you that.”

(Talia was thirteen when Peter was born. She helped Mom with him, focused on him instead of making friends her own age. She met Evan at college, the first time she really spent any time away from her littlest brother. Peter never liked Evan all that much. Ryan was just a little shit all the way around, but Peter loved him, of course. He never had much time for Peter, but six years is a big gap. [He never wonders why Talia helps Mom so much. It’s just always been like that.])

“What?” Peter snarls, moving towards Lydia – and then Allison shoves the taser into his throat.

“Back up,” she demands. 

(Talia and Evan, Ryan and Miranda, Cora, Amelia and Jessica, Danielle, Robbie. Peter was able to carry Cora out, but they didn’t find her with him, just outside the tunnel. Laura was at Stanford. Derek was at basketball practice. And everyone burned.)

“Tell me,” Peter growls because he’s always known something wasn’t right. Mom never looked at him the way she looked at Ryan. Dad could barely look at him at all. 

“You’re not an uncle,” Lydia says again. “You didn’t kill your niece.” 

And that – no. _No_.  
He can feel his control slipping away, his wolf howling in the back of his mind, and the littlest Argent skims the taser across his neck as she pulls Lydia away. 

“We’re leaving,” she says and he turns his head, closes his eyes, because she’s not Kate. She’s _not_. But she’s an Argent, and that’s practically the same. 

As Allison closes the door on her way out, Peter throws back his head and howls. 

Because he promised to protect Laura, and he swore to keep Derek safe, and Cora only laughed when _he_ held her, no one else.

His pack burned. His family died. He thought he’d lost his brother and sister, but all of his siblings survived the fire. All of them. 

He howls his fury and his grief and his regret – and he leaves Talia’s claws in the beam because he doesn’t want to touch them. He’s always known that Julian Hale was his father, and Fiona Hale his mother. But if they’re not… 

It doesn’t even matter anymore. 

He’s still huddled in the corner when Derek steps in. “Peter?” Derek calls softly. “I heard you, earlier.” 

Derek hates him, but his only nephew still loves him just as much. No. Peter has no nephew, and no niece. But he can’t tell Derek that. 

What’s one more lie? 

“I finally remembered the rest of what happened that night,” he murmurs. 

“The fire?” Derek asks, stepping closer, but still out of reach. Derek will never trust him again. Peter understands. 

“No,” Peter says. “The night I killed your sister.” 

He can _smell_ Derek’s sudden rage but Derek only breathes in and out, and then he says, “We don’t have time for you to hide. Things are happening. Get up.” 

Peter raises his head to meet his brother’s gaze. He’d thought his family died in the fire – the only survivors left him behind as they ran. But Laura was barely an adult, and Derek still a child, and who knows what the fuck was going on with Cora.

Cora is gone again – but Derek _is still here_.

Peter knows there are parts of him that will never be fully healed. Not even killing every last Argent left in the world could even _begin_ to fix him. But his pack isn’t completely dead and so he nods without looking away from Derek and climbs to his feet. 

“Tell me,” he says. Derek’s pack is in trouble and it’s not like Peter trusts any of them to watch his brother’s back.


End file.
